


Coulson's got himself a girl (but I want to make him mine)

by gth694e



Series: The Adventures of Strike Team Alpha [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Clint's early days at SHIELD, F/F, Get Together, Jasper is a little bit ridiculous, M/M, Maria Hill is a Good Bro, Pining, STRIKE Team Alpha, but we love him anyway, pre Natasha Romanoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gth694e/pseuds/gth694e
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton has a crush on his perfect, unattainable Supervising Officer. He knows he doesn't stand a chance, so he's happy just to admire Coulson from afar. </p><p>Until Coulson gets a girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Blind Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [concertigrossi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertigrossi/gifts).



> Title is modified lyrics of the song "Jesse's Girl" by Rick Springfield. 
> 
> Rating is for Clint's dirty mouth.
> 
> Many thanks to coriolana for betaing this fic and helping me make it much much better.

**March 18**

“Hey, Coulson,” Clint said, stepping into the office of his supervising officer, “Sitwell said I need to fill out an AR-05 for those new arrows, but I thought…”

Clint stopped, all thoughts of arrow requisition forms disappearing as Phil Coulson turned to face him.

Coulson’s Dolce jacket hung on the back of his desk chair. His tie was missing from its usual spot around his neck; instead, it was neatly folded on his desk. And the first two buttons of his royal blue shirt were unbuttoned.

On anyone else, a nice shirt combined with Dolce slacks would look dressed up, but on Coulson…Clint had never, in the six months he had known the man, seen him so underdressed.

“Yes, Barton?” Coulson raised an eyebrow as he swiftly removed his cufflinks.

“I…uhm…got a hot date, sir?” He meant it as a joke. It was a well-known fact that Coulson didn’t go on dates.  At least, Clint had never met someone so impervious to his flirting. Clint would put that down to the man just being straight, except Coulson’s gaze never lingered on women either—and not for a lack of interest from the women. There was a blonde bombshell in IT constantly batting her eyes at Coulson and bringing him baked goods. But Coulson never seemed to notice, accepting the brownies, cookies, or cake with a courteous smile and thanks.

“Apparently,” Coulson answered, and Clint frowned. Apparently what? Damn, had Clint zoned out staring at Coulson’s blue eyes? The color of his shirt made them seem even more intense than usual.

“Huh?”

“Apparently I have a hot date,” Coulson clarified. “At least, that’s what Melinda tells me.” Coulson rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and fuck, those forearms. The man should be required to have a license to reveal forearms like that. Though he was Phil Coulson—maybe he _did_ have a license for his forearms.

Clint tried to return his careening mind to the conversation. “Sir?”

“It’s a blind date, Barton,” Coulson said. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have noticed Clint’s difficulty in keeping up with simple polite conversation. “Melinda’s been trying to set me up with this friend of hers for over a year. Swears we’ll get on like oil and fire, or some other unfortunate turn of phrase.”

“Oh.”  Something between Clint’s brain and his tongue was short circuiting.

“Well, I owe Melinda, and if this is how she wants me to pay back that debt…” Coulson shrugged.

“Ah.”

“Did you need something, Barton? Because I’m due at the bar shortly.”

“No, sir, nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow,” Clint said. Answering Coulson’s questions was instinctive.

“If you need anything in the meantime, Garrett is the officer on duty,” Coulson answered.

Coulson ushered Clint out of the office, then closed and locked the door while Clint stood there awkwardly. Once done with the task, Coulson looked over at Clint with a questioning glance. “Was there something else you needed?”

“Just, uh, good luck, sir,” Clint said, plastering a broad smile on his face.

“Thank you, Barton. Try not to spend all night at the range, I don’t want to have to limit your access.” And then Coulson walked away.

Clint watched him go, feeling hollow.

***

“So Coulson dates,” Maria observed later that night. Clint was stuffed between her and Jasper in a round booth at their favorite bar. They ended up there most Fridays—just like they used to do in the Academy. Some things hadn’t changed after their transition to the New York Office.

“Yeah,” Clint said, staring morosely into his beer. 

“You know what this means?” Maria asked.

“It means,” Clint said, “Coulson dates; he just doesn’t date me.” 

“Wow, no,” Maria said. “I was gonna say, it means he dates, so he might date you—if you ask.”

“Coulson is literally on a date right now,” Jasper said, his expression behind his large glasses appalled. “You can’t just ask a man out the day after a date!”

Clint motioned his beer in Jasper’s direction, seconding the other man’s thought.

“It’s a blind date,” Maria said. “What are the odds it goes well?”

“Maria!” Jasper exclaimed, immediately knocking on the table. “You can’t say something like that. You just jinxed the whole thing!”

“Plus it’s Coulson,” Clint said, looking into his beer sadly. “The man defies the odds on a daily basis.”

“And you’re the amazing Hawkeye,” Maria pointed out. “You don’t just defy the odds. You spit in their face as you pass by.”

“Even if Coulson dates, he wouldn’t date me,” Clint insisted. “He’s our supervising officer. I’m his junior agent. It goes against regulations.” Clint slumped forward, resting his forehead on the table. He didn’t know why he was taking this so hard. He’d never stood a chance with Coulson.

A light hand gently rubbed his back—Maria, unless Jasper had suddenly gotten touchy feely on Clint.

God, why couldn’t he just be in love with one of the two of them? They were his best friends, had been since the day Nick Fury had dropped him off at SHIELD Academy—a carnie with nothing to his name except a bow and an attitude. While all the other SHIELD agent wannabes with their shiny degrees snubbed him, Maria and Jasper had befriended him. They were his best friends, but he didn’t love them, not like that.

Instead, he fixated on his perfect, unattainable SO.

That was so like him. And he was so fucked.

 

**March 19**

Hung-over, Clint missed his usual six am workout with Maria and Jasper the next morning. Instead, he rolled into the SHIELD gym around ten, scowling enough that the other agents left him alone on the treadmill.

The treadmill was all he was going to be able to handle with his pounding headache and the sunglasses he was wearing to dim the lights. Later he’d go to the Range, but fuck a normal routine today.

From his spot, he had a perfect view of Agent May on the exercise mats. She was doing some slow martial arts thing—chai tea? Wait, that was a drink, wasn’t it?—and it was soothing just to watch. Clint’s pounding headache drained away to a throbbing ache as he watched her smooth, controlled movements.

So Garrett’s too-loud voice hit him harder than it should have. “Hey, May! Have you seen Phil around?”

May didn’t break her focus or turn in Garrett’s direction. “No, I haven’t.”

A grin broke out on Garrett’s face. “Twenty bucks says our boy is getting laid.”

“I don’t make bets about my friend’s lives.”

“Aw, come on, May. You and I both know if Phil doesn’t end up marrying her then he’s more of an idiot than we thought,” Garrett said. “They’re perfect for each other--”

“Surely it’s too early in the morning for gossip, John.” Clint nearly missed a step on the treadmill at the sound of Phil’s voice.

His SO stood at the entrance of the gym, wearing one of his impeccable suits. Today his tie was a deep emerald green.

“Phil!” Garrett said. “Surprised to see you this morning.”

“I don’t know why you would be since we arranged to meet now to discuss Level 4 Op assignments.”

“Aw, come on, Phil,” Garrett said. “You had a date last night. You have to give us something. Did you hit it off? Did you sweep her off her feet?”

 _Her_. A woman. Clint should’ve known Phil was straight. Of course he was straight. Because Clint had the worst god damn luck in the universe.

“I never kiss and tell.”

Garrett smirked. “So there was kissing?”

Clint turned off the treadmill and jumped off, landing harder than he intended to. He didn’t have to listen to this. He had no reason to be here. He didn’t have to…

“Agent Barton,” Coulson said. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, sir,” Clint said. Of course he had attracted Coulson’s attention, just not attracted you know…him. “Just realized I’m supposed to meet Sitwell.”

Coulson’s eyes narrowed, as if he didn’t believe him, but he didn’t question Clint further.

And then Clint fled, like the coward he was.

***

“Do you want me to tell you what I learned about her?” Maria asked, sitting down at the table across from him.

Clint nodded, staring down at his plate of macaroni and cheese. He was a coward but he was still a spy. He needed to know.

“She’s a musician for the New York Symphony, a cellist,” Maria said. “Originally from Portland, but she just got divorced and moved here to get away from her ex. She’s apparently very good; world renowned, even.” Clint suddenly remembered every time he’d walked into Coulson’s office to find the man humming along to classical music.

“May says she’s also a big nerd—reads comics, _loves_ Captain America.”

Clint closed his eyes.

He had never stood a chance with Coulson. Coulson was Dolce suits and silk ties. Clint was wife beaters and thrift store jeans. Coulson was Columbia University and the Army Rangers. Clint was elementary school and the circus. Coulson was a true believer. Clint was a mercenary. On no planet did Clint Barton stand a chance with Phil Coulson. Clint had always known this.

But he had been a goner from the first mission, when the seeming paper pusher had taken down a Columbian drug dealer with an orange. He had thought his crush on his SO would disappear with time, but if anything the past six months had proved to Clint what an incredible man Phil Coulson was. Coulson saw his agents for who they were, instead of for their sketchy pasts. He always had his door open for when someone needed him. And he never, ever left a member of his team behind. He was _trustworthy_ , and God, Clint was a sucker for a trustworthy man. 

Maria’s hand lightly touched Clint’s. He opened his eyes and looked over at his friend. “We don’t know it’s anything,” she said. “One date isn’t a relationship. A date with a woman doesn’t even mean he’s straight.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Clint said. “I have…I have no claim over him. This, maybe this is the wakeup call I need. To let go of this crush.”

“Or it’s your call to man up.”

Clint shook his head and took a bite of his lunch. It was better this way. He could let Coulson go. Let Coulson be happy. And Clint…well, Clint had never been happy, so nothing in his status quo would change.


	2. Montage of Pining

**March 23**

Clint collapsed onto the couch in Coulson’s office, his arm cast over his eyes. “Sir, if I have to fill out one more form for Garrett, I’m gonna kill him.”

“If you kill him,you have to fill out a FA-01,” Coulson said. “Which would defeat the whole purpose of you killing him to get out of forms.”

“Does SHIELD really need a form for everything?” Clint whined.

Coulson responded with a chuckle, and Clint peeked out from his arm in surprise. His whining never got a chuckle out of Coulson. Ever.

But the man wasn’t looking at Clint. He was looking at his phone, the skin around his eyes crinkling with a subtle smile.

“What’s so funny, sir?” Clint asked, sitting up on the edge of his couch. “Sitwell break his foot stepping off a curb again?”

“No, it’s nothing, just a friend,” Coulson responded. He texted a response and then slid his phone back into his pocket.

“A friend, huh?” Clint asked, forcing cheer into his voice and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He would be happy for his supervising officer, goddammit. “This wouldn’t be the friend you went on the hot date with the other day, would it?”

“Despite contrary belief, I do have a life outside of the office,” Coulson said. “And yes, actually. It is the woman from the date.” Clint’s heart sank. Coulson was still talking to his blind date. They were probably really dating now.

Coulson turned back to his computer. “Was there something you needed, Barton?”

“Actually, sir, I’m here for a FR-09,” Clint said.

Coulson looked up from his computer. “And why exactly do you need a dissolution of marriage form?”

“I’m not saying I had to marry Sitwell on our last op to infiltrate the Ft. Lauderdale mafia, but….”

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose, and Clint couldn’t help but smile. He could proudly say that that expression of exasperation and disbelief was solely reserved for him.

And he’d take any small part of Coulson he could get.

 

**March 27**

Clint stood at the edge of the cafeteria with his tray, looking to see if anyone else he knew was eating lunch.

Jasper and Maria were nowhere to be seen. Jimmy Woo was there, but Clint didn’t feel like being lectured on why he should be using guns in the field instead of a bow and arrow. Ugh, Jimmy.

Clint’s eyes snagged on a Dolce suit by itself at a table on the edge of the room. Coulson.

 _Man up_ , Maria had said. And well, there was nothing in the handbook that said Clint couldn’t be friends with Coulson, right?

Coulson looked up when Clint’s tray clattered onto his table. The man’s eyes flickered from the tray to Clint, his eyes widening. “Barton,” Coulson said, a slight frown touching his forehead. “Why are you only eating meatloaf for dinner?”

“My dietician says I need to limit my carb intake,” Clint answered. His dietician had also threatened to resign when Clint asked if pizza was a carb, but Coulson didn’t need to know that.

Coulson’s eyebrows rose, and he motioned to Clint’s plate with his fork. “You know there’s bread in meatloaf, right?”

Clint looked down at his meatloaf in horror. There was bread in _meat_ loaf? Wasn’t that like false advertising? Then again, he supposed the whole “loaf” thing did insinuate bread, and not just the shape of it. Shit. The only thing not bread-related available in cafeteria today was salad. And Clint hated salad.

“Aww, meatloaf, no.”

Coulson hummed softly, and then said, “I won’t tell her if you won’t.”

Clint froze. Was Coulson—Agent “I wrote the rule book” Coulson—saying he would withhold information from Clint’s dietician? That couldn’t be what Clint had just heard. Phil Coulson didn’t break the rules.

Hesitantly Clint looked up. The crow’s feet at the senior agent’s eyes were crinkled, his eyes smiling even if his lips hadn’t even twitched. Clint felt a slow smile spreading across his own face in response, and he held Coulson’s gaze as he picked up his fork and took a bite of meatloaf.

An actual smile ghosted across Coulson’s face, quickly hidden when the man brought his cup to his lips.

Aww, fuck, he never should have sat here. He was supposed to be getting over Coulson, not falling more in love with him.

Coulson’s phone buzzed, banishing the man’s smile. Clint focused on his food, allowing Coulson some modicum of privacy as he flipped open his phone and said, “Coulson.”

“No, you’re not bothering me, just eating lunch….no, with Barton.” Clint looked up at the sound of his name. Coulson’s half smile was back, his eyes distant as he listened to whoever it was on the other side of the phone.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Coulson’s eyes flickered to Clint and then away again quickly. “Was there something you needed, Audrey?”

Audrey. Clint raked his mind, trying to think of any agent named Audrey, but came up blank. Also, Coulson didn’t usually smile while talking on the phone to agents, not even Garrett or May, his closest friends.

“Yes, I should be able to make that,” Coulson said. “See you there.”

Coulson hung up the phone, and Clint raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Audrey?”

“Yes, Audrey,” Coulson said. For a moment, Clint thought that was all he was going to say, or that Coulson was going to remind him that supervising officers did not share their personal lives with their junior agents. But then Coulson added, “She’s my friend, the one from the blind date.”

Clint blinked in surprise and then immediately masked his feelings by waggling his eyebrows. “So that’s going well, yes? “Coulson has a girlfriend.”

Coulson rolled his eyes. “Eat your meatloaf, Barton.”

Clint grinned, and then did as ordered to hide the way his heart fell.

 

**April 2**

The need for caffeine drove Clint to the break room. He was in the middle of pouring the last dregs of sludge into his purple mug when Coulson walked in, his Captain America mug in hand.

“Sorry, sir,” Clint said, holding up the now empty coffee pot.

“It’s probably for the best,” Coulson said. “Now I can make the coffee how I like it.”

Coulson reached from the coffee pot, but Clint retreated a step. “I’m sorry, sir. For the sake of the junior agents in this building, I cannot allow you to make that swill.”

“Swill?” Coulson’s eyebrows lifted. “That swill is called coffee, the coffee of _real_ agents.” The man held out his hand expectantly. “Hand over the pot, Barton.”

Clint nearly broke down laughing because the last time someone had said that to him, they had been talking about a very different kind of pot. But Coulson didn’t need to know that story, so he handed the offending object over without another word.

Clint stepped aside and sipped his coffee. He should go back to his desk and finish his last mission report. He should do anything other than stand here and watch his supervising officer make coffee and yet…he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“Sir?” Clint said.

“Yes, Barton?” Coulson didn’t look up from the coffee machine, into which he was carefully measuring coffee grounds.

“Maria, Jasper, and me were gonna go see the new James Bond movie tonight and make a drinking game out of it. You know, take a drink for every time they do something completely out of the scope of the possible…”

“You’ll be drunk in the first half hour.”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point,” Clint admitted with a shrug. “Anyway, I was wondering if…maybe you wanted to go with us?”

Coulson froze, every line of his body stilling from the set of his shoulders to his hand on top of the coffee machine.

Oh, shit, Clint had messed up. He wasn’t supposed to be asking his supervising officer out for social reasons, even if it wasn’t at all a date, just a group of friends hanging out. Coulson was _not_ his friend. Coulson was his supervising officer. Junior agents did not hang out socially with their supervising officers.

Coulson closed the top of the coffee machine and turned to Clint. His face was expressionless, and Clint barely stopped himself from cringing. He’d stepped over a line. He braced himself for a lecture on SHIELD propriety.

“I already have plans with Audrey tonight, Barton,” Coulson said. “We’re going to see the new production of _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_.” Of course they were. Because Coulson’s new girlfriend was as high class as he was. God, Clint was an idiot. Even if Coulson would hang out with Clint, it wouldn’t be to get smashed while watching a cheesy spy flick.

“Sounds classy,” Clint said with a bright fake smile.

Coulson hummed, leaning against the counter as the coffee machine gurgled happily behind him. “I’m not sure classy is the right word for Stoppard. He would protest the label, I think.”

“Oh,” Clint said, gripping his coffee mug helplessly. He was completely out of his depth. He didn’t know anything about the play or Stoppard or whether or not it was really classy or not.

Awkward silence—well, at least Clint was awkward and Coulson was silent—descended. Clint shifted nervously and said, “I better be getting back to work.”

Coulson nodded, and Clint retreated. He almost made it out the door when Coulson’s voice stopped him. “Barton?”

“Yes, sir?” Clint asked turning back. Coulson’s agent face was gone, his expression softened with a crinkling of his crow’s feet and…if Clint didn’t know any better he would say Coulson’s expression was wistful.

“Thank you for the invite.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” Clint said. He took his coffee and retreated to his desk. 

 

**April 10**

Clint made it all the way back to his quarters, intending to get his bow so he could practice, when he remembered he didn’t have a bow anymore.

He stood in the hall and stared at the door of his quarters. His SHIELD issued whiteboard was covered in purple writing: “CLINT EATS BOOGERS.” Jasper really needed to work on his insults.

Clint had intended to grab his bow and spend the next three hours at the Range. It was his exercise and his reward for getting all his paperwork from his last Op done. He had the time to spare, and he’d wanted nothing more than to spend it on the Range, lost in the rhythm of archery.

But Clint didn’t have his bow anymore. Not after his last Op. Jimmy had broken his leg, and they had needed a quick splint before the five ZODIAC goons found them. So Clint—who had been out of arrows—used the arms of his bow. By the time they’d finished running, the bow had been irreplaceably damaged, but they’d gotten out alive. And the next time Jimmy made a smart remark about how guns were better than bows, Clint was just gonna remind him he owed his life to Clint’s recurve.

He supposed he could still go to the Range and work on his gunmanship. Despite popular belief, he didn’t hate guns. It was just…a gun was a tool. A bow was a friend.

Sometimes his only friend.

“Barton!” Clint jerked, reeling around in surprise. Phil Coulson stood in the hallway, in the junior agent quarters. That didn’t even make sense. Coulson didn’t live at SHIELD, he had a real apartment like a real person, and he never visited the junior agent quarters.

“Sir,” Clint said. “Can I help you?”

“We have a mission,” Coulson said curtly. “Come with me.”

Clint looked down at himself. He was wearing loose fitting jeans and a purple shirt, the sort of clothes he wore when he didn’t have to do anything. “Give me ten to change into my tac suit…”

“No, you’re dressed fine for this op. Come along, Barton.” Coulson turned on his heel and walked away. Clint had no choice but to follow.

“So what’s the sitch, sir?” Clint said when he caught up with Coulson.

“Sitch, Agent Barton?” Coulson asked. “Are you a teenage girl?”

“You know me, sir,” Clint said with a bright smile. “I like to keep hip with the youths.” That teasing ghost of a smile flitted across Coulson’s face, and Clint chalked that up as a win.

“Of course, how silly of me to forget,” Coulson said.

Coulson didn’t say anything more, and Clint fell silent. Coulson would apprise him of the situation when Clint needed to know. Coulson had never led him astray before, and he wouldn’t now.

Clint followed Coulson down to the parking deck under the building. Clint expected them to get into one of the jeeps or maybe a sedan, but Coulson walked past all of the SHIELD-owned black vehicles without stopping. Soon they were passing the smart cars and minivans that were personal vehicles.

And then Clint saw it. Tucked between an oversized SUV and a practical Prius was a cherry red 1962 Chevrolet Corvette. Perfection on wheels, all smooth curves and sleek lines. Clint wanted to reach out and touch it as he passed by.

He wondered who owned it, which SHIELD agent would have such an obvious and decadent car. It had to be a senior agent, no one else could afford it, but most of the senior agents were like Coulson and May: reserved, private. They’d never drive something so flamboyant. Maybe Garrett? He had a penchant for the over the top.

Suddenly Coulson was standing beside the car, next to the driver’s door. He was removing his tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons, and…fuck, Clint was hallucinating. This was like the beginning of every fantasy he had ever had about the man.

Coulson looked at him, that small smile and his crinkled crow’s feet making butterflies flutter in Clint’s stomach, and then he quirked an eyebrow. “Are you just going to stand there, Barton? Get in the car.”

Clint stumbled forward, his feet instinctually obeyed Coulson’s command, before his mind caught up. Holy shit, this was Coulson’s car.

And Coulson was removing his suit jacket.

What the actual fuck.

“Sir, this is your car?” Clint’s voice was hoarse. Concern touched Coulson’s expression as his eyes flitted up and down Clint, as if making sure he was okay.

“Yes, Barton,” Coulson said, as he took off his cufflinks and rolled the sleeves of his jacket. “This is Lola.”

He’d _named_ his car?

Clint had always known Coulson was amazing, but he’d never realized how perfect the man was.

Coulson popped the trunk and placed his coat jacket and cufflinks inside a special compartment that seemed to be designed specifically to hold Coulson’s suits. Clint hid a smile by walking up to the side of the car and studying the beauty up close.

“Coulson, this car….it’s perfect,” Clint said, running a hand over the hood of the car.

“Thank you.” Coulson closed the trunk with a gentle nudge, not the loud thud most people used. “I restored her myself.”

Clint looked up in surprise—Coulson knew cars?—only to lose his train of thought when he saw the gentle, fond smile on Coulson’s face. Clint’s insides melted as for a moment he imagined that fondness was for him and not the car.

Moments later Clint found himself in the world’s most beautiful car, being driven by the world’s most perfect man, driving through the world’s greatest city, to go do some Op Coulson still hadn’t told him anything about. And for once, Clint couldn’t find it in himself to care about the lack of information, because as long as Coulson didn’t tell him about the Op, Clint could pretend that this wasn’t for a mission, wasn’t for SHIELD, wasn’t for work. It was just Clint and Coulson, taking a drive, and enjoying each other’s company.

Clint titled his head back, letting the mid-day sun wash over him and warm him. He listened to the hum of the engine. And just…he felt happy.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this warm, this light, this good. And sure, it was probably pathetic that his moment of happiness was on the way to an Op, but Clint didn’t care. Because this moment was perfect.

The car slowed to a stop, and Clint whined. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to know about the Op. He didn’t want this moment to end.

“Wake up, Barton.” Coulson’s voice was soft in his ear.

“Five more minutes,” Clint turned away from him and curled in on himself.

“Trust me, Barton.” Clint could hear the smile in Coulson’s voice. “You want to wake up for this.”

Clint cracked an eye open, and then both his eyes fluttered wide open in surprise. “Our mission is at an archery shop?”

“Something like that,” Coulson answered.

Coulson didn’t say anything else, and Clint followed him out of the car, still at a loss. They entered the shop, and an employee appeared, summoned by the bell. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Phil Coulson. I called ahead…”

“Oh, yes! If you’ll head to the Range, lane 10, we’ll bring it to you.” The employee disappeared into the rows of bows. Coulson nodded and then headed a different direction, as if he knew exactly where he was going.

Clint stared after him for a moment and then scrambled to follow. “Coulson,” he said. “What are we doing here? What is this?”

Coulson paused and shot a glance back at Clint. “I promised you a new bow, didn’t I?”

Clint stopped walking.

Coulson had promised him a new bow. But when Coulson had promised him that, Clint had assumed it meant Coulson would fill out the requisition form, not…whatever this is.

“Are you coming?” Coulson called.

“Yes, sir.” His voice came out as little more than a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat and then repeated more loudly. “Yes, sir.”

***

“Coulson has a corvette?” Maria asked.

“Coulson let you ride in Lola?” Jasper demanded. “He let you touch Lola? Oh my god.”

Maria turned to Jasper. “Wait. YOU KNEW?”

“We’re spies, Maria. It’s our job to know these things.”

“And we’re friends, Jasper. It’s your job to share the things you know.”

“Guys!” Clint exclaimed, slamming his hands down on the table. They both jumped and turned to him. “You’re missing the point. Coulson promised me a new bow, and he got me the most beautiful bow I’ve ever seen in my life. And it was perfect. And he ordered it special. And _I don’t know what to do_.”

Maria and Jasper were both silent. Maria’s eyes were narrowed as if deep in thought while Jasper removed his glasses with a sigh. “Clint,” he said. “He’s your SO. It’s his job to get you the best tool to do your job.”

“I know, but…”

“Is he still with Audrey?” Jasper asked.

Clint nodded.

“Then there is nothing to do,” Jasper said. “Coulson is your SO. Sure, he let you touch Lola, but that’s because Coulson is a good SO. He got you a bow, _because that’s his job_. And I hate to say this, but…I think it’s time to let Coulson go.”

“Yeah.” Clint looked morosely into his beer. “Time to let go.”


	3. Surprise

**April 14**

Clint burst into laughter, gripping his stomach and banging his hand on the table.  Beside him, Maria was collapsed in her chair, helplessly laughing.

“It’s not that funny!” Jasper’s face was beet red.

“Oh my god, Jasper,” Maria gasped. “I just…I can’t…I can’t even.”

“It was an honest mistake!” Jasper exclaimed. “I mean are you telling me you’ve never…”

“Never,” Clint said. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, but I’ve never ever mistaken a hooker for a contact.”

Maria wiped the tears of laugher from her eyes and said, “Tell me, Jasper, what form did you have to fill out to explain that you used the bribe money to pay a sex worker?”

Jasper’s scowled. “Form F-U, Maria.”

Clint slumped forward, his head hitting the table as he laughed hysterically. He couldn’t even imagine going to Coulson or Garrett and trying to explain that he’d accidentally paid a sex worker instead of bribing a contact. “Oh, Jasper,” Clint said, turning his head so he could look up at his friend. “I’m glad you exist.”

Jasper’s expression turned suspicious. “Why?”

“Because as long as you’re around I’ll never be the biggest fuckup in SHIELD.”

“Fuck you too, Clint.”

“Oh my god!” Maria’s laughter suddenly stopped and she elbowed Clint hard in his side. “Clint! Don’t look now but Coulson just walked in the door.”

“What?” Clint sat up abruptly.

Phil Coulson stood by the hostess stand, and he looked…he looked beautiful. He was wearing a dark green sweater—A SWEATER—with a pair of jeans, and God, as he turned away from Clint to say something to his companion, Clint got a perfect view of how those jeans clung to his ass. Coulson looked completely delectable, and Clint--well, Clint just wanted to eat him with a spoon.

“Coulson in jeans,” Maria said. “Wow.”

“Who’s that he’s with?” Jasper asked. “It’s not May, is it? Because I don’t think I can handle seeing our work dad AND mom in public.”

Coulson laughed, full out laughed, a sound that floated across the restaurant and filled Clint’s soul like the most beautiful of music. His companion reached out, putting her hand familiarly on Coulson’s upper arm, and Clint’s heart stopped.

It wasn’t May. It was no one Clint had ever seen before. A beautiful woman in a lacy blue dress that fit her like a glove. She smiled at Coulson like he was her favorite person in the whole world, and why wouldn’t she? When Coulson was the best person Clint had ever met.

Clint couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop staring at the relaxed set of Coulson’s shoulders, the way he smiled openly, or how his body naturally curved towards his companion. This was Coulson as Clint had never seen him before. This was Coulson truly relaxed and happy, and God, Clint wished it was him that Coulson was looking at like that, with his blue eyes and his crow’s feet and…

Wait, Coulson actually was looking at him. His smile evaporating. Tension back in his shoulders, his body stiff.

“Fuck,” Clint said, suddenly at his feet. “I have to go. I have to go to the bathroom. I have to…” Clint raced away before Jasper or Maria could say anything more. He went to the bathroom and locked himself in a stall.

His breath came quick, too quick. Fuck, he was hyperventilating. He needed to get a grip on himself. He needed to calm down. He had no right to be this upset. Coulson wasn’t his. Coulson would never be his. No matter how much he wanted him to be.

This was so typical Clint Barton. To want someone he could never have. To pine after someone who would never want him back. Because Clint couldn’t ever do anything right. Not in life, not in love, not in anything.

By the time Jasper came looking for him, Clint had already escaped through the bathroom’s small window.

 

**April 15**

Clint sat with his feet propped on his desk, idly reading over the brief for his next mission. Apparently he was going to some part of the former Yugoslavia to take down a human trafficker. His favorite kind of mission, taking out guys who were well and truly bad.

“Ahem.”

Clint jumped two feet in the air, swearing. “Goddammit, Jasper, I told you to make some noise when you….”

It wasn’t Jasper.

Coulson stood in the doorway of the office that Jasper and Clint shared. A faint smile touched his supervising officer’s lips, his eyebrows risen with amusement.

But Coulson couldn’t be here. Coulson never visited the offices of junior agents. He sent them messages telling them to come to him. Never, ever the other way around.

“Coulson, sir.” Clint’s feet dropped down from his desk with a clunk, and he started to stand.

“You don’t have to get up for me, Barton. Sit down.” Clint hesitated halfway out of his chair and then lowered himself back down.

“Can I help you, sir?” Clint asked.

“Ah, well, no.” Coulson shifted, and Clint stopped himself frowning. Coulson couldn’t be uncomfortable, could he? What did Coulson have to be uncomfortable over? “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Alright?” Clint asked.

“After last night,” Coulson said. “Hill said you had food poisoning?”

Clint stared up at his supervising officer in surprise. Coulson had noticed Clint’s speedy retreat last night? Coulson was…worried about Clint?

Warmth bloomed in Clint’s chest.

“I’m fine, sir,” Clint answered. “I just think I ordered my steak a little too rare. Next time, I’ll make sure it’s not mooing.”

A hint of a smile flickered across Coulson’s face, and the warmth inside of Clint settled into his stomach.

For a moment they just stood there, Clint with a broad smile on his face, and Coulson with the hint on his. Clint could have lived in this moment forever, but then Coulson’s phone beeped.

Coulson jerked, as if surprised, but he didn’t go for his phone, instead standing in the doorway.

“Was there something else, sir?” Clint asked.

“Audrey,” Coulson said, immediately banishing all the warmth from inside Clint. “I…”

Coulson seemed unable to continue so Clint, being the good agent and friend he was, helped, despite the sinking feeling in his chest. “She was your date last night, right? The one in the blue dress? She was very pretty, sir.”

“Yes, she is,” Coulson agreed. “But we’re not dating.”

Clint stilled, sniper mode initiated by his instinctive sense of danger. “Excuse me, sir?”

“We’re just friends,” Coulson said, as if that should clarify Clint’s confusion.

“Okay, sir,” Clint answered.

“I just…I wanted you to know that.” Coulson suddenly wouldn’t meet Clint’s gaze, instead pulling out his phone. “And since Audrey is my friend and so are you…”

“I’m your friend?” Clint didn’t mean for his voice to crack. He didn’t mean to sound so pathetic, like a fucking little boy.

Coulson suddenly looked up, his gaze locking on Clint. “Yes, Barton. At least, I like to think we are. That is, if you would like to be friends.”

“Of course!” Clint exclaimed, sitting up straight.

“Good,” Coulson said with a nod. Clint thought he’d leave it at that, get to whatever important business his phone was informing him about, but the man just stood in the doorway. Clint almost prompted him again, but then Coulson said, “Would you like to come to the symphony with me?”

“What?”

“Audrey gave me two tickets to this Friday’s concert,” Coulson said. “And since she didn’t get to meet you last night, she thought it might be nice if you came. She wants to, ah, meet all my friends. And she’s met everyone except you now.”

“Oh,” Clint said. “Okay.”

“Okay, then, good,” Coulson said, and then the man was gone.

Clint stared after him, uncertain what had just happened.  

 


	4. The Symphony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning of a very brief reference to Clint's abusive past.

**April 18**

Clint Barton leaned against the wall in front of the entrance to SHIELD’s junior agent quarters, watching the cars go by. Despite the fact he was wearing a suit and the nerves jittering inside him, he was the picture of casualness. Clint knew how to hide his nerves in stillness for the sake of a mission. He’d be a lousy sniper if he didn’t.

He spotted Lola the moment she turned onto the block. She was beautiful, the city lights reflecting off of her body, but not nearly as beautiful as the man driving her. But when was Phil Coulson ever not beautiful?

The car pulled into a spot in front of headquarters, and Clint found he couldn’t move, frozen in his casual pose. He watched as Coulson got out of the car, and fuck, his suit was perfectly tailored to his body. Clint really wanted to unbutton his jacket and slip his arms around the other man’s waist.

And maybe he could. Because Coulson wasn’t dating Audrey.

Coulson stopped a few feet away from Clint, his eyes scanning Clint from head to toe, and was Clint imagining things or was his voice a little hoarse when he said, “You look great, Barton.”

“Clint,” he said, stepping away from the wall.

Coulson blinked, uncertain. “What?”

“My friends call me Clint.”

“Oh.” Coulson’s voice was soft, as if maybe he hadn’t even meant to make a noise out loud. He cleared his throat and then said, “Well, then, you better call me Phil.”

 _Phil_. Only May, Garrett, and Fury called him Phil. Certainly not junior agents, not even junior agents he was friendly with.

“Yes, sir…I mean, yes, Phil.”

Coulson’s smile brightened, and then he stepped back, motioning to the car. “Well, we better head out if we want to make it there in time.”

Clint didn’t say that taking Lola to the Symphony was ridiculous, that they would never find a spot, because this was Agent Coulson and he made the impossible happen all the time. So Clint just slipped into the car and decided to enjoy the ride.

***

Clint had never thought of himself as a classical man, but there was something about the Symphony. It wasn’t the music, though that was nice enough: it was watching the musicians. There was a flow to their playing, almost like a dance. Seeing Audrey hunched over her cello, her fingers and bow flying, her body moving with the music, it was like watching May spar. Beautiful.

And then there was Coulson. During a particularly sweet melody, his eyes closed, his face relaxing into a serene expression. During an intense but upbeat section, Coulson’s hand twitched in time with the music. Halfway through Audrey played some sort of solo, and Coulson simply beamed with pride. And during one particularly sad song, Clint swore he saw tears in Coulson’s eyes.

Clint memorized every expression, every gesture Coulson made and filed them in a place in his brain simply labelled “Phil.” This wasn’t Agent Coulson—the incredible bad ass whose very name struck fear into the hearts of junior agents. This was Phil, a man who loved his car and the symphony and had for some reason decided to share both those things with Clint.

It ended and everyone began to stand, but Phil just turned in his seat to Clint. “So, did you like it?”

Clint smiled and said, “I didn’t think I would, but you know, I really did. And Audrey was great.”

“She’s very talented,” Phil said, his eyes twinkling, “but don’t tell her I said that or else she’ll start ranting about skill versus talent and how it’s not some innate gift of genetics that makes her good but all the years of practice she’s had.”

“Noted,” Clint said, his eyes dropping from Phil’s eyes to the quirk of his lips. He flicked them up quickly, realizing what he’d done, and was surprised and pleased to see Phil’s eyes darken. The other man leaned closer, and Clint’s breath caught in his throat. Was this happening? Was this going to…

“Phil!”

Phil recoiled and jumped to his feet, a light pink dusting his face. “Audrey! You were marvelous!”

“Thank you!” She hugged Phil as if it was no big thing, like people hugged Agent Coulson all the time. Then she pulled away from him and turned to Clint with a huge smile. “You must be Barton!”

“My friends call me Clint,” he said offering his hand.

“Well, Clint, it is good to meet you,” Audrey said, taking his hand and scanning him up and down overtly. She hummed with appreciation, and then turned her gaze back to Phil. “Please tell me we’re going to get food. I’m starving.”

And that was how a half hour later, Clint found himself sitting in a booth across from Phil and the woman he had thought was Phil’s girlfriend.

Audrey was….she was delightful. He could see why Garrett and May all thought she and Phil should be together. She chattered while Phil remained silent, though her anecdotes never failed to make him laugh. She talked about her music with an intensity that matched the intensity Clint had seen from Phil on any number of occasions. And she somehow managed to slip Captain America into the conversation as if that was how everyone talked.

She was perfect for him, so why wasn’t Phil dating her?

“If you two will excuse me for a moment.” Phil got up from the table and hesitated before stepping away. His gaze landed on Audrey. “Play nice.”

“Why, Phil,” Audrey said, her hand covering her heart. “I’m always nice.”

Phil gave her a stern look, then disappeared in the direction of the bathroom.

Clint stared down at the plate of fries in front of him, suddenly uncertain what to do with himself. The silence only lasted a moment before Audrey said, “Phil is my best friend.”

His head jerked up, meeting Audrey’s intense brown eyes. He felt like a bug under that gaze, like she could eviscerate him just with her eyes. “He is my best friend, and I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Clint frowned. “Is someone hurting him? Is there something going on? Because if Coulson needs help…”

“It’s nothing like that,” Audrey said. She steepled her hands in front of her, looking over them at Clint. “I don’t know you, Clint. I don’t know if Phil has a chance with you, or if you’re stringing him on, or if this is something Phil has completely made up in his mind. But if he has a chance, you need to tell him. And if he doesn’t, you need to stop whatever game you’re playing so he can quit pining and move on.”

Clint’s mouth was dry, and he suddenly couldn’t swallow or speak or do anything.

She couldn’t be saying what it sounded like she was saying. There was no way Phil Coulson had feelings for him. And Phil Coulson certainly did not pine.

“It seems I’ve said something to surprise you,” Audrey said. “But surely you knew. Phil is always going on and on about how observant you are, how good you are about reading other people.”

“I…no,” Clint said, shaking his head. “You can’t be right. Coulson…he’s only nice to me because he’s my supervisor. It’s not…it’s not anything more than that.”

Audrey snorted. “Phil’s rose-colored glasses must be intense, because if you really think that, you’re not nearly as observant as he claims.”

Clint shook his head. “No. People like Coulson don’t like people like me. He deserves someone like you. Classy, elegant, and smart.”

For a moment Audrey just stared at him, and then her expression broke into something soft. “Oh Clint, honey,” she said. “Phil is head over heels for you.”

“But why?” His voice cracked and he hated himself for that, for showing such weakness in front of a woman he barely knew. “Why would he like me?”

“I think you’ll have to ask him that yourself,” Audrey answered.

Before Clint could try to pry more information from her, Coulson was back. He stopped just before the table, looking back and forth between them and said, “One of you told the other something terribly embarrassing about me, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Audrey said, with a bright smile and raised eyebrows. “Watch out, Phil. Soon we'll know all your secrets.”

Coulson smiled at Audrey, and Clint looked between the two. They were elegant and beautiful and…he didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong with them. They belonged with each other, and if the reason they weren’t together was because of Clint? That wasn’t acceptable.

Coulson was looking at Clint, his expression slightly worried, and suddenly Clint found himself on his feet. “I’ve…I’ve gotta go.”

And then Clint ran away, because that was what he did.

He strode out of the restaurant and down the sidewalk. He glared at the crosswalk signal, willing it with his mind to turn to “walk” as he got closer.

“Barton!”

Clint stopped so fast he gave himself whiplash. He couldn’t not stop when Coulson shouted like that, like this was an Op and one of their lives depended on it. He wanted to run so much, but his feet wouldn’t move. Traitorous body, obeying Coulson instead of him.

“You can run if you want to.” Coulson’s voice was calm, like he was speaking to a spooked horse, but it wasn't quiet—he raised it to be heard over the hubbub of a New York City street. “I’m not going to ask you to stay if Audrey made you uncomfortable. But before you go, she wanted me to tell you….you’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong,” Clint said flatly. He didn’t turn; instead he glared at the pavement. Who the hell did Audrey think she was? With her fancy dress, and classy cello, and comic geekiness? What the hell did she know about being an orphan, being hungry, being nothing? “She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand.”

“Get what?” Coulson’s voice sounded closer. Clint’s entire body tensed, his shoulders hunching forward as if it might protect him from Coulson’s words.

“People like Audrey, they don’t understand what life is like for people like me,” Clint said. His voice sounded harsh to his own ears, but reality was harsh. “I’m white trash. And people like Audrey might occasionally look at me and see some sort of…charity case, someone they can help make a better person, but they’ll never be able to make me into what I’m not. I’ll never be a classy person like her. And it doesn’t matter how much I may want or like or even love a person like Audrey because in the end I’m always just going to be fucking trash.”

“Clint.” Coulson’s voice was soft and much too close. “You’re not trash. You’re…”

“No,” Clint said, remembering the first time he’d been called trash, in a drunken slur accompanied by a backhanded slap stinging his cheek. “I learned my place a long time ago.”

“Did you ever stop to consider that maybe a person like Audrey looks at you and sees the incredible man you are?” Coulson’s voice was sharp. “They see someone who is loyal despite betrayal, loves despite hate, and hopes even though everything in his life has given him a reason not to hope. Maybe a person like Audrey sees that you’re a hero. And maybe…” Suddenly his voice softened. “Maybe that’s all that matters to a person like me.”

If he didn't know better, Clint would have said that Phil sounded almost . . . yearning. “A person…like you?” Clint turned, unable to help himself and Coulson was right there, within arm’s reach. Clint’s breath caught in his throat as he glanced up into Coulson’s face. No, not Coulson. _Phil_. This was not an agent standing before him. This was a man, his expression earnest and…vulnerable. Coulson was never ever vulnerable. But maybe Phil was.

“Yes, Clint.” Phil met his eyes, and Clint’s throat went dry. “A person like me might care for a person like you a lot. We just may never have thought someone like you—someone young and beautiful and smart and capable and brave—could like someone like me.”

Smart. Brave. No one had ever called Clint those things, and certainly not with Phil’s sheer sincerity. Clint had to look away from the earnestness reflected in those beautiful blue eyes.

“Clint.” A soft hand touched Clint’s chin, tipping his face up.

Phil paused, searching Clint’s face, giving Clint an opportunity to escape.

Clint leaned forward, pressing his lips to Phil’s.

He was done running away.

***

Maria Hill discreetly turned away as Coulson wrapped his arms around Clint’s shoulders and Clint’s hands snaked down to Coulson’s ass. She had expected more discretion from Coulson, but frankly, at this moment she couldn’t care if they were having sex on the sidewalk as long as they were together and no longer pining after each other like idiots.

She tucked away the cell phone she had been pretending to chat on and stepped away from the storefront she was leaning against. She slipped into the restaurant without the men noticing—not that they were paying attention to anything but each other’s tonsils at the moment—and made her way back to the booth where Audrey Nathan sat alone, nibbling at her fries. The cellist looked up as Maria approached and said, “So?”

“Currently scarring the entire street with their PDA,” Maria answered.

A smile filled Audrey’s face. “About damn time.”

“Amen to that, sister.” Maria stole a fry off of her plate. “I swear if I had to listen to Clint spend another second pining over Coulson…” She shook her head and then motioned to a beer with a fry. “Was that Clint’s?”

“Yes,” Audrey answered.

Maria picked it up and took a swig. She deserved it, after all the pain and effort she had gone through to make this felicitous event occur. When May had told her that Coulson wasn’t actually dating Audrey, that they were just friends, Maria had realized that maybe Clint’s feelings weren’t quite as unrequited as they thought. But she had also realized that, left to their own devices, neither man would make a move.

She had thought suggesting to Coulson that he take Clint to the archery shop to pick up the custom bow would take care of it—the two of them driving through the city and a present that clearly displayed how much Coulson cared about Clint. But apparently she had underestimated the men’s ability to be oblivious idiots. After that she had known she couldn’t do it alone

A bribe of red velvet cake got Audrey’s number out of May. Maria hadn’t known what she had been expecting from Coulson’s new BFF, but it hadn’t been such a devious mind. It had been Audrey who had suggested the restaurant rendezvous, and then when that failed, the symphony. And Maria knew she had Audrey to thank for whatever catalyst had gotten the men to finally get over themselves.

“You do know this isn’t going to make things better though, right?” Audrey asked, breaking into Maria’s thoughts.

Maria frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean dealing with them pining was bad enough. Now we’re going to have to deal with them in love.”

“Shit.” The beer clunked down hard. “You’re right. Those two idiots are never going to be able to manage a relationship by themselves. We’re not done, are we?”

“Nope,” Audrey said. She then smiled coyly at Maria. “I suppose this means we’ll just have to keep talking…you know, for the sake of our best friends.”

“Hmmm,” Maria hummed, her eyes scanning Audrey, who looked so damn good in her black orchestra dress. “I think you’re right. Why don’t we keep talking, say, tomorrow at lunch?”

“Or…tonight at my place?” Audrey’s smile was as sweet as it was predatory, and damn, Maria was going to be in so much trouble with this one.

“Sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! That's the end of this fic! Thank you guys so much for the amazing reception I've gotten here. When I started this bit of fluff for concertigrossi I did not expect to get such amazing comments and feedback. You guys are awesome. 
> 
> Three things:
> 
> 1\. If you liked this fic, YOU MUST READ the companion piece my partner-in-crime, coriolana, wrote: [Operation Lovebug](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3261161). She wrote a fic about the Ft. Lauderdale op where Jasper and Clint get married to infiltrate the mafia, AND IT IS AMAZING. Go read it now!
> 
> 2\. You may notice that this fic is now the first in a series. "The Adventures of Strike Team Alpha" is going to focus on the adventures of Clint, Jasper, and Maria, while they are junior agents. It will also have Clint/Coulson and some Maria/Audrey and will probably end with Natasha's arrival at SHIELD. If that sort of thing interests you, please subscribe.
> 
> 3\. As usual, you can find me on tumblr as [the-feels-assassin](http://the-feels-assassin.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I just realized I forgot to say what concertigrossi's original prompt was! Cuz this was a prompted fic! So here it is:
> 
> "Clint is pining. It’s driving Natasha up the wall, but Clint won’t make a move because Coulson has recently met The Cellist, and it’s obvious it’s an old-friends-who’ve-just-met, BFFs situation. But The Cellist comes to New York, and Phil really wants them all to meet. Clint puts a good face on it, until The Cellist pulls him aside and says, “Look, if he’s got a chance with you, please tell him. If not, put him out of his misery, because listening to him pine is just awful.”
> 
> And then she and Natasha go out and do something girly together."
> 
> Obviously I changed Natasha to Maria, but otherwise, I think I met intent of the prompt pretty well. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Operation Lovebug](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261161) by [coriolana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coriolana/pseuds/coriolana)




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